The Flesh of Fallen Angels
by EidolonLathi
Summary: Tsurumi is not sure if he is supposed to view his facial injuries as a curse or as a blessing. Maybe it is both at the same time. The reaction of his surroundings towards them may be another factor helping him to decide his final opinion on it.


_Fandom: Golden Kamuy_

_Summary: Tsurumi is not sure if he is supposed to view his facial injuries as a curse or as a blessing. Maybe it is both at the same time. The reaction of his surroundings towards them may be another factor helping him to decide his final opinion on it. _

Author's Notes: Chapter 179 with all its implications does not exist in the verse of this fic.

**The Flesh of Fallen Angels**

There was a hole in Tsurumi's forehead, an everlasting reminder that he had changed. Behind the hole, in the dark space of his head, there was a tiny empty place where the missing part of his brain was supposed to be. The entire thing didn't look attractive exactly but it provided him with a solid piece of proof: His temper had gotten worse compared to how it had used to be but he couldn't be blamed. The doctors himself had explained to him that this was a side effect his injury could bring.

The doctors had been right of course. Tsurumi couldn't help it, he could feel like a part of his patience had melted away and in exchange his impulsiveness had grown into something stronger, permanently changing a vital core aspect of his character.

What Tsurumi could not say though was how much of that change had been caused by his brain injury and how much by the circumstances of his surroundings. Oh, the matter with the lost piece of brain played a big part in it, certainly. He could feel like part of his perception had permanently changed, causing him to see the world through a new lens, no matter if he agreed with this or not.

In a way the world looked clearer.

And in a way he felt he had lost a part of naivety he hadn't even been aware he still had possessed, allowing him to see the world with a newly won sense of reality. He was pretty sure that the biggest part of this change had nothing to do whatsoever with his brain. It had been a change of the inner workings of his mind that had been caused by a festering unrest that had taken root deep in him since ages.

Though it had been such a long time since he had been caught up in that blast Tsurumi was still not quite used to wearing his forehead protector. Its edges tended to cut into the flesh and the pressure of the straps keeping it in place made the skin of his scalp hurt from time to time. But it was not like there was an alternative to this. It was this or having the increased risk of the wound on his forehead or even his brain getting an infection. And if he had bad luck then that could mean getting killed by that old injury for good.

Funny how the wound had never entirely healed. All tries of speeding up the healing process had been in vain: A hole in his head had remained, bringing a dangerous direct connection from the outside world into the very inside of his head. The brain fluid dripping out from time to time was a merciless reminder of this.

The open wound mustn't get infected. If it spread to the brain he might die, this time for real. Or he might end up with bigger permanent damages that could end up influencing his body as well as his mind.

And Tsurumi couldn't die yet, there was still so much left to do for him. He felt the duty to protect the fallen remains of his comrades that laid buried in random soil, in Manchuria, in places so remote from home.

And of course he still had a duty towards every comrade still alive. Just thinking of the scale of what still needed to be done left him restless.

But then, injury or not, he was still perfectly capable to get these things done. Now that he was thinking about it, the heightened awareness this new state of mind brought him was almost an advantage, helping him to focus on the things that were the most important.

Taking this into account he shouldn't worry too much about the effort his new state of being brought with it.

The hole in his forehead alone needed so much attention and care, sometimes Tsurumi forgot that the upper half of his face had gotten burned and disfigured too. Funny how he got used so quickly to the fact that moving his muscles felt more stiff now, making it feel like an effort to keep his expressions moving. But then, annoying as it was, those injuries were mainly an aesthetic problem, he decided. And weren't scars fashionable anyway?

Of course, it all depended on the circumstances. For example, a woman ending up with a disfigured face, it would have been perfectly understandable for her to feel upset in a case like this. But obsessing about your looks was sort of unfitting for a man, so then why even ponder about things that couldn't be changed anymore? Tsurumi wasn't supposed to feel upset about his facial scars so he didn't, going so far as to forbid himself to think about them.

It was just easier that way.

He tried to distract himself with the thought that his doctors had pointed out several times he should be glad he still had his eyesight.

The thing with his brain, the invisible marks the war had left on his mind, all these things had already affected him enough.

Sometimes Tsurumi had to remember Edogai. The man had been affected from invisible wounds festering on in his mind too, a victim of the circumstances his life had had him trapped in. Unlike Tsurumi he had seemed to suffer under it though, gladly accepting the opportunity to change. Maybe that was why Tsurumi had succeeded in finding a solution to help Edogai chasing away the voices lingering in his head.

And it had been a happy coincidence Edogai had not only wanted to change but had felt sympathy towards Tsurumi's goals as well. It had made working with him so much easier. Acknowledging Edogai's work, appreciating the effort he had put into those taxidermies of his, this had already been enough to bring him and his valuable knowledge on Tsurumi's side. It had made working with him more fun too. There had been a sincerity in his motivation that was impossible to fake. And Tsurumi valued sincerity. At least in others.

A pity Edogai had died so suddenly. (Had he drowned once the mine had been flooded with water or had the gas killed him before? Tsurumi never had been able to find an answer to this. There was no way to know now.) Replacing his expertise and knowledge was proving to be near impossible, Tsurumi thought. His ponderings were stopped by voices in the next room.

"Taxidermy? Why do I have to read book about taxidermy of all things?" That had been Koito. His dialect had nearly disappeared from his speech, making it perfectly easy to understand what he was complaining about in a glaringly dismissive tone.

"Because we have trouble finding a fitting replacement for the expert we used to have around, that's why." Tsukishima, slightly annoyed.

"I see." Koito was sounding downright puzzled now.

Strangely that seemed to have slowed down Tsukishima's impatience. His explanation was sounding more collected again, the forced calmness of someone having to explain the mere basics of an issue: "You weren't around when we were in the middle of dealing with this. It's like this, First Lieutenant Tsurumi wants us to gain more knowledge about the subject. After all we don't know if we will even be able to find a replacement for our expert. And if we find someone fitting, well, then Tsurumi wants to ensure we cannot be tricked by him. The whole matter is too important."

"Now I understand! I will start reading immediately!"

"What? You don't have to. It's so late already. It's enough for you to start reading tomorrow." Tsukishima said, sounding puzzled.

"If the matter is deemed important by First Lieutenant Tsurumi there's no excuse not to start immediately!", Koito said. He had no business sounding this agitated at such a late hour.

Hearing the exchange Tsurumi felt himself go hesitant. Unlike with Edogai's enthusiasm that had been sincere in nature, Koito's motivation was harder to pin down. At times it appeared almost performative in nature, though he had not yet found an explanation of why that impression kept manifesting.

Tsurumi just didn't know what to make of it. Silently shaking his head he started concentrating on the paperwork in front of him again. Nikaidou was still at the hospital, recovering from losing his leg. And as Tsukishima had reported after today's hospital visit, Nikaidou was on the direct path to develop an addiction towards morphine. Tsurumi's hand went up to the leather straps of his forehead protector, adjusting it. There had been a time he had needed to rely on painkillers to deal with his injury as well. It was hard to accept that pain had become a new and permanent part of your life when there were short-termed solutions for it, no matter how dangerous they might turn out to be in the long run. With a sigh Tsurumi kept focusing on his paperwork.

The next time his focus got disturbed was due to conversations taking place on the room of the other side of the door again.

"Be careful! It's not a bookmark!", Koito, sounding outraged.

"I realized. Please calm down." Tsukishima, sounding as annoyed as tired. "I wasn't planning to take it or anything."

When Koito answered he sounded downright bashful. "I'm sorry. It's just, it's my favourite one."

"That one? Why did I even have to go through the effort of... oh, well. Favourite picture, got it."

Tsurumi felt a joyless smile show up on his face. Oh, so that had been the source of this late commotion. Koito getting worried about his bromides. He probably thought he was discreet about it but Tsurumi was very well aware of Koito's little collection. It was hard not to with Koito getting so absentminded every time he was busy with them.

Tsurumi made a point of playing obvious and never mentioning anything though. What would have been the point beyond pointlessly embarrassing Koito? The man had a hard time dealing with his nerves as it was. And besides. The entire matter with Koito collecting those photos felt a bit… (obsessive) overly dedicated. If he was honest Tsurumi didn't know what to make of it either. So he refused thinking about it.

Allowing a little sigh to escape his lips Tsurumi looked up from the desk he was still sitting on. It was a bit weird to know Koito was perfectly capable to speak in an understandable dialect with everyone else but thanks to nerves was unable to do so whenever talking with Tsurumi. Did he honestly make such an intimidating impression? Of course, it was intended of him to have a somewhat sinister atmosphere. But what did it say about his ability to control it if his very own men had a problem to deal with it?

But was it really intimidation that made it impossible for Koito to control his speech when talking with Tsurumi? It was beginning to feel like something else was the reason for it. Tsurumi had to think about Koito's collection of bromides and felt a sombre fog expand through his lungs.

By the time Tsurumi was finished with his paperwork it was the middle of the night. Standing up from the table he realized he hadn't heard another sound coming from the room next to him since the last snippet of conversation had reached his ears. It couldn't be that Koito was still studying that book about taxidermy, couldn't it? Well. Taking the narrow-minded obsession he showed at times when being asked to complete a task, of course it could. So maybe checking in on him would be a good idea.

Fuelled on by these ideas Tsurumi stepped across the room and quietly opened the door. His hunch had been right. Koito was still sitting at the table, the open book in front of him. The late hour had been too much for him after all though: Sleep had overtaken him, letting him collapse, his head resting on his folded arms.

Koito really was awfully predictable with these sort of things. And yet Tsurumi could never fully foresee the exact route his actions would take. The obsession Koito felt was too deep for that, for any detailed prediction. It felt like the kind of thing that needed to be analysed in every little aspect of its nature but despite himself Tsurumi felt his mind went blank whenever he tried thinking in detail about the matter. (His mind tended to go blank when things made him uncomfortable, it had gotten worse since he had gotten his injury.)

He was trying to see the good side of it: The kind of dedication Koito possessed was nothing you came across often. But at the same time it felt a bit overly intense at times. Unlike Tsukishima's and even Edogai's motivations. Both had offered enough situations leading to the decision that Tsurumi had been able to allow himself to trust them. Not that you ever could fully trust a person. But if you worked closely with someone you at least wanted to feel halfway secure around them.

(Who could you feel safe with? Who could you allow to trust? Where did dedication end and obsession begin?)

In front of Tsurumi's inner eye the image of a glove made out of human leather showed up. Tsurumi realized that being around Edogai he had never felt insecure, not after he had managed to come up with a successful idea to let Edogai face and defeat the ghosts of his past. After that, well, it was true that Edogai would have been be surprising and baffling at times but never in a way that made Tsurumi feel threatened. (Artists were allowed to display some eccentricity at times, it was the thing that not only felt alright but almost expected of them.)

Keeping these thoughts in mind he stepped closer to the table. From up this close Koito looked almost peaceful, a glaring contrast from the restless energy he would display when awake. His head was lying on his folded arms and though sleeping while still sitting at a table couldn't feel comfortable his exhaustion seemed to have been enough to let him sink into a deep sleep. His hand was still holding the photography.

Tsurumi stepped closer; despite a deeply settled reluctance he couldn't place unable to suppress his curiosity any longer. So Koito had his favourite picture of Tsurumi with him? Which one might it be? The one showing Tsurumi together with Tsukishima before the both of them had been caught in that fateful blast? Or the one showing Tsurumi amongst several of his men, the picture taken as well when his face still had been unmarked by any injury.

Tsurumi almost let hear a sigh, despite himself, but he couldn't help it. It was just, he knew even with the group picture Koito had gone through all the trouble of gluing cut-outs of his head over the ones of everyone else, leaving him with no one but Tsurumi. It were those kind of manipulations beginning to feel too intense, too obsessed. Or maybe the gesture was not any of this but born out of a harmless and playful impulse? No. Feeling the leaden weight still settling in his chest an alert part of Tsurumi's mind insisted to mention that this picture altering felt a bit excessive by far. The fact that Koito had replaced Tsukishima's face in the other picture alone already managed to evoke this feeling. (There was no way Tsukishima could be replaced, why anyone would think otherwise was beyond Tsurumi's understanding.)

Finally close enough he could now see the picture. Which one might it be, the one with Tsukishima or the group picture?

It was neither. Koito was holding the most recent one. Tsurumi alone, his facial scars impossible to miss, his forehead protector still visible though he was wearing a hat.

Tsurumi felt his mind go blank. Koito had went to all the trouble of collecting those older pictures of him, and yet his favourite one... his favourite one...Tsurumi stared at the picture. In his opinion photos were a lot less forgiving than mirrors. A mirror was a dynamic thing, you could approach it in a more favourable angle if its reflection was weird. Or you could walk away from it entirely. A photo did not care about your sensibilities. It captured the very state of the moment for eternity, displaying it to the entire world.

And despite of this, from his ever growing collection Koito had chosen the newest picture. (It would have been best if there was no collection to begin with.)

The blank state Tsurumi's mind was in got numbed out further by a dull fog spreading through his awareness. He couldn't name the feeling but at the same time he was aware that it felt familiar. It had used to show up occasionally before the blast, when his brain had still been intact. The memories of those uninjured times in his life were more and more beginning to feel like a dream that had happened to someone else a long time ago; sometimes it was hard to believe they were actually a part of him. And that though it hadn't even been that much time since he had gained his injuries. But at the same time it felt like aeons.

But it was true, those memories were an actual part of it and so were the feelings attached to them. Like that feeling without a name that was still lying dull and heavy in his chest, its presence gradually beginning to feel so familiar and threatening that he could almost name it. Yes, he just needed to remember a little bit harder and then he would find the description for the exposed feeling that was descending on his mind, he knew it.

Tsurumi didn't notice the brain fluid flowing down his face until it was beginning to drip from his nose. In an instant his hand had gripped his handkerchief, cleaning the mess away, the motion meanwhile a mere reflex. His face was almost clean again until he had properly realized what had happened.

It was funny, despite of this he still wasn't quite used to the feeling of it. The fluid leaking from his forehead was warm and more thin than gooey. He hated the comparison but he couldn't help but be remembered on snot. And still. He wasn't used to it. Meanwhile had the suspicion he never would. Fluid dripping out of your forehead, it just didn't feel right.

But then, neither did it feel right to have a part of your brain missing. And that though given the choice Tsurumi wouldn't have changed back to the way he had used to be. Before, when patience and mental stability never had been questions concerning him. He had undeniably changed, whatever the exact reason for it had been in the end: His brain injury, the trauma of getting disfigured, the weight of the war. Maybe in the end it had been all of this or none. But fact was that now he felt more like his true self than ever before. Funny how those things worked.

Out of nowhere Koito who had been so quiet until now started moving, turning his head slightly. At first Tsurumi was sure he was about to wake up but it immediately became apparent that he had just been stirring in his sleep.

The words Koito silently uttered came as a surprise anyway: "First Lieutenant Tsurumi… so neither of those then?... I see."

Tsurumi went very still.

As suddenly as Koito's sleep talking had arrived as suddenly had it vanished again. And even more surprising: Though it appeared he had been talking to Tsurumi in his dream his speech had been perfectly understandable. Dialect heavy but understandable.

Witnessing this Tsurumi felt himself overcome by the wish Koito would learn soon to talk with him in clear ways when awake too. It would have reduced this factor continuing to bring stress, being able to talk to him without needing a translator. And it would have helped to decide what to make of this odd habit of the man to alter photos of Tsurumi. Maybe it was a thoughtless but ultimately harmless gesture after all, Tsurumi tried to hope despite the leaden fog in is lungs telling him otherwise. (It wasn't a habit of him to ignore his instincts but he still needed to play it nice with the Rear Admiral whose wish it had been for Koito to join Tsurumi's unit to begin with. Yes, for the moment he still needed to appease the man. At least as long until Tsurumi had reached his goal and had finally gotten control over this island.)

Tsurumi was still holding his handkerchief in his hand, looking at Koito who looked as deeply lost in his sleep as he had the entire time. And that though sleeping at a table couldn't be very comfortable. For a moment Tsurumi considered waking him up, realizing how uncomfortable the entire situation he had ended up in was making him feel. But then he decided against it, feeling an atypical hesitation take place in his mind. It must have been due to that suffocating nameless feeling that was still lying heavy in his chest, weighing his lungs down and making it hard to breath.

Giving the picture Koito was holding on while asleep one last sceptical look Tsurumi decided to leave. Right behind his back, at the place his eyes couldn't quite catch when turning his head, he felt the countless stares of the dead weighing him down. The truth was, the lands of the dead and of the living tended to be connected far too closely than was wise for way too often. This connection wasn't stronger in the night, one just tended to become more aware of it.

Tsurumi left the room, giving Koito another cautious look before closing the door quietly.

But even with the door closed like this, Tsurumi got the feeling the connection to the land of the dead had only strengthened in the last few seconds. If Tsurumi remained silent and listened intently, he could almost make himself believe he could decipher some of the voices trying to reach him. He felt his restless gaze come to a halt at a drawer of his desk, the one he had stored away the glove made out of human leather (oh no, it's not human skin, it's pigskin. And the fingernails, I carved them out of the pig's hooves. Funny in how many ways pigs resemble humans, wouldn't you say?).

Briskly turning his head away Tsurumi broke out of his stupor, setting himself into motion again, swiftly leaving the room. There were enough people remaining in the land of the living he still needed to be concerned about, listening to directionless whispers born out of the solitude of the night would only cause him to get lost.

His mind went back on what Tsukishima had told him earlier about Nikaidou's growing morphine addiction. A problem and a danger Tsurumi could sympathize with all too well. If he had a say in this he would prefer for Nikaidou to remain in the realm of the living for much longer. The place of the dead was so crowded already, what good would a hasty departure be? No, Nikaidou was pleasant to have around actually, especially now the both of them had managed to mend the rift that had settled in between them since the start of the year. Yes, Nikaidou should stay for much longer. Tsurumi wasn't strong enough to decide fate but as a self-proclaimed shinigami maybe he had a bit of power to influence its outcome. If nothing else it was a line of thought that brought him a small slice of comfort. (And it also was a desperate wish he wouldn't admit himself to have.)

_**The End**_

AN: This fic is also cross posted to ao3.


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